Scarlet Psychosis
by Iloveplotbunnies
Summary: He wondered sometimes when he stared at his reflection in the mirror, if he was insane and then he’d forget until he didn’t even know who he was staring at anymore. COMPLETE
1. Patrick Jane

**Scarlet Psychosis**

**Summary: **He wondered sometimes when he stared at his reflection in the mirror, if he was insane and then he'd forget until he didn't even know who he was staring at anymore.

**Disclaimer: **I really don't own anything; I just own the idea and the title of the story.

**Spoilers: **Set somewhere after S1.

**Warnings: **Major angst.

**A/N: **

I'm just going to let you read and decide on this one—the only thing I'm sure on is this won't be a one-shot, and that there will most likely be six chapters (with each one-shot trained on each character) Enjoy!

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**Depersonalization:**

_A state in which one no longer perceives the reality of one's self or one's environment._

The strangers' face was always expressionless, blue eyes shadowed and cold, mouth turned up slightly in a crooked, jaded smile. It was then when he moved, fixing his blonde hair with his hand which hung loosely and was pressed to his forehead in curls—that he noticed the stranger before him moved with him, mocked his every movement; blue eyes glinting in the hollow silent laughter which he had strained his ears to hear beyond the steady dripping of water.

_You…_

_Killed…_

_Them…_

The stranger before him gasped through his gaunt lips, and the laughter of nails on a chalkboard started again until he couldn't take it any longer and fell on his knees, hands pressed to his ears with his eyes sealed shut, willing himself to disappear and then suddenly, he was gone.

He was then drifting above himself, watching himself stand and watching the stranger follow him—laughter still ringing in the large room and suddenly, without warning he saw himself slam his fist into the stranger's face. The laughter stilled, and suddenly the surroundings became small shards of scarlet scattered everywhere, and he wasn't floating anymore—and the pain flooded his senses; the thrill of the pain clearly written across his face as he hid his painful sob with only three words: "He deserved it."

It was then, and only after he had slammed his fist into the stranger's face, scarlet running from gashes and coating the white marble sink and dark walls around him that he realized that the stranger's face with the mouth turned up in a crooked and jaded smile and shadowed eyes glinting with silent laughter was his own; at which he wondered sometimes when he stared at his reflection in the mirror, if he was insane and then he'd forget until he didn't even know who he was staring at anymore.


	2. Grace Van Pelt

**Scarlet Psychosis**

**Summary: **He wondered sometimes when he stared at his reflection in the mirror, if he was insane and then he'd forget until he didn't even know who he was staring at anymore.

**Disclaimer: **I obviously don't own _The Mentalist_, if I did… we'd end up seeing tons of humor and no cases.

**Spoilers: **Anywhere after "Red Menace"

**Warnings: **Language, Sexual Content.

**A/N: **

I really glad you all enjoyed the last chapter, this is such a fun collection to write—it's testing my limits to keep each character in character while distorting each character to their limit!

Anyway, thanks for all of the wonderful reviews, favorites and reads!

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**Hallucination:**

_The perception of somebody or something that is not really there._

Her head was pressed to the headboard, hours after he had fallen asleep next to her, curled up in his own little fantasy world of warm blankets and heavy pillows. It wasn't that she couldn't sleep next to him; in fact she slept better when he had his strong arms around her but tonight, something felt off.

They'd done everything they usually did, they ate dinner, skipped around on the subject of work, and she dragged him to the bedroom where both of them proceeded to rip off articles of clothing, and pleasure each other with the thinnest of touches; but somewhere along the way, she could only feel the feathery touches of her own hands upon her own body and the mattress beneath her, rocking slightly in response to the both of them.

Maybe it was the fact that he was abnormally quiet, but she had chalked that up to the fact that both of them were still a bit sore with each other and that he just _needed her_, he _needed _her in ways that many didn't or couldn't use her for. In fact, she remembered, he hadn't greeted her with his customary "I love you" or hadn't give her the smile she considered her own—he had just stepped into her apartment (he had a key, after all) and pressed his soft lips against her pale lips, his tongue beginning for entrance and beyond that, everything was normal except his lack of appetite and loving caresses.

She slowly brought her head down to her pillow, letting her red strands strain against the lavender of her pillow as she listened to him breathe softly next to her and without a second thought, she reached to grab his arm and was met with the soft feel of fabric beneath her fingers.

He wasn't there.

He was never there.

So, the next morning she'd pull herself together with the knowledge that she had a job to do —and she'd step into the CBI building knowing that she wasn't as innocent as she was yesterday with him.


	3. Wayne Rigsby

**Scarlet Psychosis**

**Summary: **He wondered sometimes when he stared at his reflection in the mirror, if he was insane and then he'd forget until he didn't even know who he was staring at anymore.

**Disclaimer:** I absolutely love _The Mentalist_, but at the end of the day—I'm thankful I don't own it, and I only write the fan-fiction.

**Spoilers: **Set after "His Right Red Hand"

**A/N: **

I find this absolutely hilarious, but every time I go to update one of my stories and check my inbox apparently I'm on my own "author alert" list. Honestly, I'm pretty sure I know I _just_ updated a chapter—after all I'm the one writing them and turning around to post them.

Anyway, thanks for the awesome reviews, reads and alerts for the past few chapters! Enjoy this one, because we've got three more one-shots to get through still!

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**Paranoia: **

_Extreme and unreasonable suspicion of other people and their motives._

He used to be fine, he supposed.

It's hard to say, especially when you've never really known yourself in the first place—but one morning, after the death of a whole CBI unit he just woke up and felt different—different in the way that he carried his lunch, different in the way he had to check that the bolt to his apartment was latched shut before he could fully relax and even after that, he had his windows boarded up to feel _safe_.

He couldn't invite her over, he couldn't let her see what he had become—he was supposed to be their safety net, and he couldn't even seem to gain enough courage to unbolt his door at night, or sleep without his gun under his pillow (when he actually could sleep). He couldn't even tell her that he _trusted _her, because what if she turned out to be one of his? What if she ended up standing over him one night, knife in hand pointed at him or someone else on their team, on his "family" but what if it was one of his so-called "family" members whom stood over him with the knife in hand?

_What if _he was the one who would stand over them with a knife?

He shivered, hands shaking slightly in fear that he might just be the one to pull the knife on them all. He couldn't let her get close, he couldn't let any of them get close—and he started pushing them away, one by one until they'd all be safe from him, and he'd be safe from them in return.

So to keep them all safe, he'd spend another sleepless night—huddled in the armchair, gun in one hand and eyes trained on the door—just to make sure that he didn't end up like so many others had in the past:

A giant red smiley with three rubber kitchen-gloved fingers in blood and a clockwise movement splashed upon a white wall.


	4. Red John

**Scarlet Psychosis**

**Summary: **He wondered sometimes when he stared at his reflection in the mirror, if he was insane and then he'd forget until he didn't even know who he was staring at anymore.

**Disclaimer: **I still don't own _The Mentalist_.

**Warnings: **Death.

**A/N: **

I'm hoping to have this collection completed by Sunday, but you never know with me—I get caught up in so many different projects. Thanks for all the reviews, and alerts—you guys are amazing!!!!

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**Mania: **

_An excessive and intense interest in or enthusiasm for something,_

The scarlet filled the crevices of his worn hands; he watched the liquid strain against the rubber glove, forming red droplets every time he shifted his hands slightly with idol curiosity and excitement.

His obsession went above maiming his pretty victims, his knife was his paintbrush with the way he carefully slid it in and out of the paint, listening to the sounds of a million guttural screams until he had his masterpiece watch as he made his signed the piece as his own, a giant red face with its crooked eyes and upturned mouth.

Then he'd leave his beautiful masterpiece of life and death, and he'd come back to watch the eccentric Patrick Jane be eluded again, watch the man break into further pieces than he currently was already in as Teresa Lisbon tried to reign her consultant to be more "justice" considerate worthy instead of "mercy" considerate; and he 'd laugh because when Patrick Jane eventually did catch him, and he eventually stepped from the shadows to reveal himself, it would be for the blood of Jane, a rarity that he wanted above all to try as his signature stared on in pride.


	5. Kimball Cho

**Scarlet Psychosis**

**Summary: **He wondered sometimes when he stared at his reflection in the mirror, if he was insane and then he'd forget until he didn't even know who he was staring at anymore.

**Disclaimer:** Uh… nope, not mine. Be happy.

**A/N:**

"Finished by Sunday…" Yeah right, that was a LIE! It's probably because I've been so busy working on finishing everything for this semester, but anyway, I'm finishing this story tonight.

I hope you all forgive me, but the reason I will go ahead and finish the story is because this chapter was so short. Thanks to all the readers, reviewers and alerters for the past chapters!

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**Confusion—**

_Mental state characterized by a lack of clear and orderly thought and behavior._

The room was dark around him, head pressed to the wooden floor below him—unsure of how he got to be in that state. He remembered coming home from work, and he remembered stepping into the bedroom but beyond that, he couldn't remember anything else. He felt around to feel a sticky, wetness covering the floor around him and he wonders what did he do to cause that?

He's usually calm, cool and collected—he's seen so much in his life that nothing surprises him, but this—he doesn't remember anything.

Weren't they solving a case last night?

He did come home, didn't he?

He was sure he did.

He pulls himself from the floor, and sits up only to realize that he can make out the furniture in his living room—and he stands slowly, to flip on the light to find that the sticky, wetness was only a clear substance, and he let himself relax.

Nothing bad had happened.

He wasn't bleeding, like he thought.

But then, what exactly had happened?


	6. Teresa Lisbon

**Scarlet Psychosis**

**Summary:** He wondered sometimes when he stared at his reflection in the mirror, if he was insane and then he'd forget until he didn't even know who he was staring at anymore.

**Disclaimer:** Nah, I still don't own anything!

**Warnings: **Suicidal tendencies, language.

**A/N: **

Finished!!!! I'm really proud of these pieces!!!! They were so much fun to write, and dark also!

Thanks to Koezh, PhoenixMagic1, BFangz and Lily Jayne for reviewing over the course of the story! It really does mean the world to me. :hugs!:

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**Depression—**

**A state of unhappiness and hopelessness, persistent feelings of hopelessness, dejection, poor concentration, lack of energy, inability to sleep, and, sometimes, suicidal tendencies**

She drags her ink pen across the incident report, thoughts running a mile per minute in her head as she listens to the unit from her office, she bites her bottom lip until she hissed in pain and watches in fascination as droplets of blood drip on the incident report below her still wobbling pen.

Shit, she grabs a tissue to clear her lip while her ears can only hear the haunting melodies of her mentor, and the slightly demented and twisted laughter of her off-the-wall consultant in the next room.

She wonders sometimes, how easy it would be just to end her life; she's seen it a million times in her career as Senior Agent: overdosing, hanging, poisoning, bleeding, drowning, burning, shooting and the list continues to the point where she realizes that the incident report turns into a list of methods, and the ink suddenly becomes blood.

She crumbles the incident report in her pale hands, and wishes for the very moment that numbness would claim her body; but she wishes she could be stronger than that.

With a small smile, she throws the paper in the trash can under her desk only to pull a clean incident report from underneath her neatly stacked papers; she knows that she'll be ready to speak to Jane tonight after he finds the crumbled list in her garbage, sprinkled and dabbled with drying scarlet.

And maybe then, both of them can start anew again—without the demons of their past haunting them.


End file.
